Kimmie's bed. Naked. Aww fuck, what did I do?

I was only gone 10 days… why does everything fall apart whenever I'm gone? I remember going home from sunny, not-so-pleasant Florida coast. I remember emptying off miscellaneous top-shelf alcohols into my gullet. I remember… little else. I shiver despite the warm bed.

Alright, grounding. Clearly I got totally sauced and made my way over to the Possible house. I rub my face and I pull away with some foundation.

Catching a glimpse at her digital clock, I'd say I missed breakfast. A door opens and I instinctively gather myself under the sheet, ready for an attack. "Up already?"

In retrospect, who else would be here to attack me?A particular redhead stands before me wearing a sly smile and again, disturbingly little else. I school my reaction and focus my attention from not panicking to making conversation. "Why, should I not be up? It's noon. On a Wednesday, if I remember correctly."

Pumpkin looks away smiling, "What? No. No reason." She looks back at me, coquettish, "Just thought you might still be tired from last night… Lover."

"Holy shit!" I jolt up, modesty be damned. She breaks in half, laughing hysterically. I pout, "That's not fair. …Jerk."

Possible pauses in getting dressed to bats her eyes innocently in my general direction. "Turnabout's fair play, Shego. Or has no one ever told you that?"

"Hey, I always let you make your own stupid conclusions without the coy." I cross my arms tightly over my chest in equal parts childlike peevishness and indignity. "Where are my clothes and why am I naked?"

"Ah, such familiar questions, Boozy." I narrow my eyes in idle threat. "They're over in the hamper." Huh so they are. "You woke up at 6 and insisted on sleeping in the nude. More comfy. Less hot and sweaty. And who am I to stop you from stripping down?" Her eyes travel to my chest appreciatively but I couldn't fight back this blush. She catches herself, murmuring, "Why don't you get dressed? You know you still have clothes here."

I do, but first quip, "Are you sure? Does that mean you're done ogling?" I let my hand drift up and down to gesture at my body, torquing it into a pinup pose.

I consider the score evened when she blushes deeper.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-QPQ-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Shego's uncertain about how we should proceed, I don't even know how to feel! She's the confident one.

God, with a body like that, how could she not be confident? I've been in the room for two minutes and she's already turned the tables on me as the aggressor. This is ridiculous. "Ogling! Oh, jus-" the distant squeak sounded foreign in my ears, a far cry from my usual chirpy voice, "please put some clothes on."

But back to the issue at hand: I have never seen Shego be honestly nervous about something, not without an associated adrenaline-high. Her eyes… they were spooked and sincerely apprehensive. She's scared. Like I'm scared. She came guns ablazin' and pumped with confidence from the bottom of a bottle - or several, I vaguely remember her saying something about her irresponsibly high tolerance - to talk to me about "wanting me to fix things", which sounds a lot like a horrible idea.

Is this how she felt when I did basically the same thing?

I venture a glance and am grateful to find her fully dressed. "How much did you drink anyway?"

The amazingly un-hungover girl moves in front of me to look in the hamper again. "All I remember having was whiskey and rum."

"Oh, two bottles of hard stuff? That's much less than I thought."

"Yeah… no. Try 2 kinds of 'hard stuff'." Jesus. How much did you drink! "Umm, I remember… Jack, Jim, Bushmills, Jim, Bacardi, and a teeny bit o' Captain."

She's either psychic or delusional. "You said 'Jim' twice…" Maybe she is a little hungover and just hides it better.

"White label and rye." Duh. Okay, I added that last part, but she might as well have said "duh".

I know I'm putting off whatever discussion we need to be having when I say, "I thought Jim Beam was bourbon?"

"Oh, okay… well yes, that's true. Jimmy is a bourbon man, but bourbon is a kind of whiskey."

"Is Jack a bourbon too?" I can't really tell the difference between them.

"Sacrilege… Alright, if we're gonna play Twenty Questions, I'm gonna shower all this crap off me and you can start the car for us to go to breakfast. I may not have the morning after shakes, but I can't handle this after a night like that." I stand, whether to protest or help, I'm not sure; it doesn't matter because Shego grabs me by both shoulders and steers me backwards out the door. I'm lucky to not go barreling down the stairs. "Get in the car. I'll be there, two shakes."

I listen to the annoyingly awake and bossy woman.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-QPQ-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So JD is not bourbon because whiskey's the bigger, more encompassing category and bourbon is a special brew with corn?" I nod. "Kind of like how a poodle is a kind of dog, one's more restrictive?"

"Yes, except the toys are a kind of rat." Such as the case of a CDRE Puddles… "So yeah, something like that." Maybe I should've just been a teacher. I ruffle her hair affectionately, "D'aww! Who's a smart girl? Who's a smart girl?"

She swats my hand, "Stop it, I'm not your bitch." I snicker when Kimmie remembers we're in public. Right, this is why I'm not a teacher.

I watch in delight as the blush works its way up her body like an embarrassment thermometer. "We don't use that kind of language Kimmie-cub," I chide, "especially in mixed company." She bristles, but calms and I can't help but poke fun at her again, "D'aww, tha's right, who's a good girl?"

Princess sighs defeat and gives into my incessant cooing. Partially 'cause I think it's creeping her out. Not that I blame 'er. "I am. I'm a smart girl. I'm a good girl."

I pat her head, "And don't you forget it. Who else is gonna keep the rest of the world in line?" My winning smile is not winsome enough today as she deflates a tiny bit more and sinks into the booth in the shabby truck-stop diner. "What? Why are you sad? Is it the dog thing - I didn't mean it, you don't have to be my bitch if you don't want to…" I'm babbling, but she just looks so sad.

"No…" the mopey lady cuts short my rambles, "I just feel like I should be someone by now." I tilt my head and motion for her to continue, since I have no clue what she's going on about. "I don't want to keep the world in line. I never did, it was just…" A hobby. "A hobby." I crack a secret smile as Kimmie plods on.

"I put in my papers, I'm not doing it anymore. I don't wanna keep anybody in line. I don't want to be the law; I'm not going to be some mindless keeper. Just, I thought I'd be getting somewhere, not backtracking." Deep breaths are taken, "This morning, I retook that test you torched - I did much better this time, so thanks, I guess - and the day after tomorrow we have our actual final exam, then a paper comparing revolutions in Europe to ones in Americas. Thank god the final for physics was yesterday, and physio was just a lab.

"Umm, but yeah… I'm going to get a degree in psychology, eventually. Everything just feels like a waste though, 'cause if it wasn't for taking it easy abroad and then coming back to drop my major, I should be graduating this year. Clearly, I'm not on the four-year plan," she chuckles wanly. "I always figured I'd be done by about now and getting my life going and doing something. Anything. Making a name for myself." She shifts her gaze down to her eggs, jostling them a little with her fork, "I thought I could be someone by now."

I scoff into my coffee, but that was a mistake - it splashes. "Because nobody's ever heard of Ki-, what was your name again?"

"Smart ass." She swats me with her fork-hand, "I'm serious," she tells me, even when her face disagrees as I grab her hand. Princess meets my eyes with some trepidation, "What if I'm screwing myself? Should I have stayed put?"

"You don't get it, do you?That would be screwing yourself." I break from her regard, the scrutiny too intense for me to stomach at the moment. "Just try t'be happy and do whatever makes you happy. Y'know, without impinging on the rights of others and blah blah-blah. Why purposely be unhappy?" She chews that over for a few minutes alongside her eggs.

"So how's Dr De- I mean um- Mr. Lipsky?" That was a pretty quick catch. I'd be more impressed if she didn't slip every time.

"Well he's a doctor now. Ph. D'ed and everything." I explain to the confusion in her brow, "He was only a little bit short and as soon as he went home to Mama, he started up hard core at the night school and everything. Then he threw his weight around to get the ball rollin' faster and now he's got a doctorate in something or other. It's probably silly like communications or whatever."

"Wow, he goes back to school and that's the kind of love he gets?" She whistles low, "Dude, that's cold."

I bow my head, he probably did get a legitimate degree of sorts. "So when ya gonna graduate now, Slacker?" I ask to change the subject.

"I dunno. When are you?" Touché.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-QPQ-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As much as I wanted to spend more time with Shego, I really did have a lot of school work to do.

I'm not so worried about psych since it's cumulative and I only just studied like a third of it for this same week, and learned the last third very recently. The material from the first test should be cake; it's practically common knowledge and common sense. I barely flip through my notes before I feel ready.

I turn back to my empty text document when I'm suddenly inspired. My fingers fly across the keys, clacking and clicking until my ideas run out. I lean away and into my chair to observe my handiwork.

"Kim Possible

ID # 663426443

POL 242

18 May"

Alright, maybe I need more 'brain' and less 'storm'. I wish I didn't send Shego away, I'm sure I could pick her brain on this more efficiently than I could pick my own. Plus, the bonus would always be that she probably knows more and probably knows too much to be consistent with her "bad girl" image. I imagine a high school-aged Shego, wearing thick, nerdy glasses with her nose in a book, all quiet and mousy in the corner of a lonely dusty library.

As funny as the image started, I realize that in my imagination, Shego's always been a loner. Judging from what she's said about her teenage years and the fact that 3 weeks ago she called me her best friend, I'd say that's probably not too far off from the truth. She had a Ron though… But I wonder what good he did her, considering the verbal lashings she's got for him.

I'm an awful friend. Just the shittiest. Summer's here though, I'll make it up to that crazy girl. I'll be the best thing that's ever happened to her. First, I'll start by figuring out her damn date of birth. God: if I could just stea- borrow - her license for just a godd- darned - minute, I'd know everything I need to. Leave it to Shego to never tell me her name or anything concrete fact about herself.

That not entirely fair. I do know stuff about her. I know when she flares her plasma wildly after a fight it's just a bluff to scare me off because she's tired (or maybe lazy). I know the sound of her emotions even in a crowded room and all I hear is blasting music. I know the way her eyes look when she's being extra-sincere. Sometimes I can even tell when she's lying, but I can't ever be sure if she's faking me out or not.

I know some stuff. I smile that I'm not totally inept as a friend.

My lips twist the other way when I realize all I've typed for my 10-page essay, that's due tomorrow, in the table for European and American revolutions is a list of things I know about Shego and things to learn about Shego.

This is gonna be a long night.

I insert the year into the date.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-QPQ-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe I shouldn't have told Pumpkin about the doofus' new-found degree. She might actually call him Dr Drew. I think I'm gonna hurl. Even hypothetically it makes me sick.

After she left, I went home to spend some quality time with Wisp. She obviously missed me. I twined her around my arms and cleaned her tank thoroughly but quickly before moving on to the rest of it all. I did laundry, put my viper friend back, and wondered why I never made a tube to shoot garbage at my neighbors. …Probably because I'd get shot. That's a good enough reason for me. It's dark before I know it.

Again, before I know it, I'm sneaking out of my own apartment - where I live by myself - to see how Possible's doing on her schoolwork. I get to her room to find her conked out at the desktop. Pushing the notes to one side with a sigh, I gather her up and lay her into the bed.

Since it looks mostly finished, I opt to save my eyes the strain and thus print out her paper to proofread. After the initial read-through, it's fucking dense, but I suppose the paper has an upper limit and that always makes things harder. Frankly, it's so tightly packed with meticulous facts, there's little room for glaring grammatical errors (seeing as she's English-proficient) so I edit for structure. I know she won't appreciate or accept any changes. Besides it's not like she's going to have time to revise the thing. I fix the single typo, arrange the papers into a folder and label it, placing the product onto her desk as I turn off her monitor.

Stealing a glance at the clock, its lights reflexively tell me it's well into 3 AM. Girl's out like a lamp.

I can't control the affection in my voice when I whisper, "G'night Kimmie."

Nor can I help the smile that comes from her, "Nighty Shego," when she snuggles deeper into the covers. Satisfied she actually heard me this time, I've leaned over and kissed her frontal lobe before I noticed moving toward the bed.

I wish her luck with tomorrow and slip a retreat through the window from whence I came.